“What?” I ask.
“I just don’t see it. Why are you trying out for cheerleading?” he asks. “You don’t seem the type.”
Is he saying I’m too fat to be a cheerleader?
That’s the first thought that goes through my head. I cross my arms defensively over my belly to hide it from his view.
“I mean, going from yearbook and debate club to trying out for varsity cheerleading?” he continues. “That’s … different.”
“Shut up, Luis,” Julisa says. “Lara can do whatever she wants.”
“I’m not saying she can’t,” he says, keeping his brown eyes trained on me. “I’m just curious. Why?”
Luis and Julisa also went to the other middle school in town. They don’t know the sad, painful history of Lardosaurus, and the last thing I feel like doing is going on an archaeological dig so they do. I don’t want to explain that, for me, getting on the cheerleading team would mean that Lardo was well and truly gone and that all the hard work I did to get in shape was worth it.
“It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” I tell him. “And I guess I figured … now or never.”
“Good for you, Lara,” Julisa says. “Go for it. You’ll be awesome.”
“Yeah. I’m sure you will be,” Luis says, even though I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t get why I’m doing it. “Good luck.”
When the bell finally rings and it’s time for tryouts, I go down to the locker rooms to change into my shorts and T-shirt. Even though I’ve lost weight, I still get really self-conscious changing in public, worrying that everyone is still looking at me and thinking, Lardosaurus.
“Are you new?” the girl next to me asks. “I don’t remember you on JV last year.”
“I was here at Lake Hills, but I wasn’t on JV,” I tell her.
“Oh,” she says. “What made you decide to try out this year?”
“I’ve always wanted to,” I confess. “And I finally got up the courage. Well, except that I’m so nervous now I’m not so sure about the courage part.”
“I’m sure you’ll do great,” she says. “My name’s Ashley, by the way.”
“I’m Lara,” I tell her as I bend to tie the laces on my sneakers.
“Well, good luck!” She heads off into the gym with a bounce in her step, looking way more confident than I feel.
I walk over to the sinks and take a final look in the mirror, making sure my hair is neatly tied up so it won’t get in my face when I do tumbles.
Bree completely ignores me when I walk into the gym. Whatever. I’m here to try out for the Lake Hills High Varsity Team, and I’m not about to let Bree Connors psych me out. I just hope I make it.
“DON’T FORGET to text me,” Mom says for what must be the twentieth time since we left the house.
“Omigod, Mom, I will,” I snap, slamming the car door on whatever else she was about to say, because I’m so sick of her nagging me.
She cares more about me making the varsity cheerleading team than I do.
Because Mom didn’t make it as a cheerleader in high school, it’s super important to her that I do. Ever since I can remember, she’s told the story of the Mean Girls and the Evil Coach who came between her and her dream of wearing a short skirt and waving pom-poms. It was her favorite fairy tale, but without the usual happily-ever-after ending.
“But it toughened me up” was how the story ended instead. “It gave me the grit that made me the successful real estate broker I am today.”
Still, when I made JV last year you’d think I’d gotten into Harvard she was so excited. She took me out shopping at the mall and then for frozen yogurt to celebrate. I began to wonder if she’d be half as excited if I actually got into Harvard, not that there’s the slightest chance that will ever happen.
The whole reason she drove me today instead of making me take the bus is because Ms. Carlucci might post the list before school, and she wanted to make sure I got in early enough to check. Personally, I could have waited until lunch, but I’ll take any excuse not to have to ride the bus.
Marci and Jenny are hanging out on the wall near the front door, playing Fashion Firing Squad before the bell rings.
“Hey,” I say, settling my butt on the cool concrete next to Marci.
“What’s up? Awesome day, right?” Marci says. “Well, it would be if I didn’t have to look at Maribel Agesta’s muffin top explosion. Ugh.”
“Seriously,” Jenny groans. “Doesn’t she look in the mirror before she leaves for school?”
I wonder what they said about my outfit before I walked into earshot, or if being their friend gives me a pass from judgment. The thing is, even if Marci and Jenny aren’t judging me, I know there’s always someone at our school who will. You walk into the wild jungle of judgment every time you open the door to the student center.
“Check out Tim Daniels. He’s expecting a flood,” Marci says. “I think he’s been wearing the same pair of jeans since sixth grade.”
“And that shirt — did he get it at Nerdcrombie?”
Marci laughs at Jenny’s lame joke. They both look at me because I’m not laughing. They expect me to say something — to agree, to make fun of him, too.
The thing is, even though he wears the same pair of high-waters every day and he’s kind of strange, Tim’s okay. Last year when I was struggling with algebra, he helped me with my homework in study hall a bunch of times.
Still, if it’s a choice between Tim Daniels and me, guess who’s getting thrown under the bus?
I giggle, but it’s a couple seconds too late.
“What’s with you this morning, Bree?” Marci asks.
“Oh, I’m just nervous because the lists go up for cheerleading today,” I tell her, even though that’s not what’s really the matter.
I wonder: Is there anyone I can tell that sometimes I want to crawl out of my own skin and be a different person than who I am? Be someone other than the Breanna my mother wants me to be?
“Ohmigosh, when?” Jenny squeals. “I’m sure you’ll make it.”
“Not sure,” I mumble. “Maybe before school. Maybe during the day. Maybe not till after school.”
“Why aren’t you there checking now?” Marci asks.
I don’t have a good answer. So I pick up my book bag and stand up.
“I guess I better go and look before the bell rings.”
“Good luck!” Jenny calls after me.
I’m not sure if I want it. Because I secretly half hope I don’t make it, even though it would suck if I didn’t because it would just give Mom another reason to think I’m not good enough. What I really want is to make it, and then tell Mom I’m not going to do it. That I’m going to try out for the dance team, no matter what she says.
If I could actually get up the courage to do it.
I can see from down the hall that there’s nothing posted on the cheerleading trophy cabinet yet, so I turn around to head to my first-period class. Lara Kelley is coming down the hallway, obviously going to check if the lists are up. I could tell her that they aren’t yet, but I don’t. I just nod in her general direction and keep walking.
I can’t believe we were best friends once, running back and forth between each other’s houses like there were no doors to stop us and sharing secrets up in the tree fort. I’d been so excited when Mom sold the Kelleys that house and told me a girl my age was going to live there. Dad always used to look over at the big oak tree in our backyard when we had cookouts and say how it would be great for a tree fort. Mom would laugh and say she’d never trust us in a structure that Dad built up in a tree. It was different somehow when Lara’s dad said the same thing. Dad said, “That’s what I’ve always said,” and Mom suddenly changed her mind. Our dads worked together on the tree fort for months, and all these years later it’s still standing.